Wild Thing
by strangegreen
Summary: Edward takes Bella camping in the wilds of Montana to help take her mind off wedding planning. Hilarity may ensue!
1. Prologue

I saw her a moment too late – a split second sooner, and I'd have caught her, but I was distracted, and now she was covered in poison ivy from the knees down. Thankfully, she had pitched forward into a fern, rather than backwards into the rest of the ivy patch. I sighed. This trip was not going well. Why, oh why, had I let Emmett talk me into taking Bella, the most accident-prone danger magnet in the West Coast, and maybe the world, camping in the wilds of Montana. I scooped her up, slung her on my back, and made for the lake.

"That was poison ivy, wasn't it?" she asked, glancing at her legs, rather than the trees flashing by us as I ran.

"Yep. I'm sorry about that; I should have been watching," I apologized, knowing it wasn't enough, and that she would be suffering for a while from this latest mistake of mine.

"Right, Edward, because you are responsible for every dumb thing I do," she sighed, and I could practically hear her eyes rolling. A small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, even though there was nothing remotely funny about this at all. Hopefully Alice had packed something helpful in the picnic basket along with Bella's lunch. I wished she had warned me about this, but I supposed it wasn't her fault that I was so inattentive.

Bella broke into my reverie with a small kiss on the back of my neck. My hesitant grin broadened, and my legs moved faster as the heat of her lips warmed my skin, sending tendrils of flame shooting down my spine.

"I love you," she whispered, and my heart soared. I let out a whoop – I never tired of hearing those three little words.

"Love you, too," I answered as we emerged from the green shade of the forest into the bright light of the late morning sun, reflected from the little lake spread out before us.


	2. When Life Gives You Lemons

"Stop scratching!"

"But it itches!" I insisted, running my nails over the already irritated skin. An angry red rash was just beginning to blossom across my pale skin.

"Well, what do you expect? It's poison ivy. Now stop scratching before you break the skin and we're in even more trouble," Edward sighed, brushing a hand across my rapidly puffing legs. The look of consternation on his face, far from making me sorry for my clumsiness, instead elicited a quiet smirk.

"Edward, honestly, what do you expect me to do? It's like a whole colony of ants has marched up my legs," I retorted, trying to sound snappish and annoyed with his lack of sympathy. I failed, and came across like the itchy, whiny, pathetic lump I was.

"How do you know what ants feel like?" he asked, a gleam in his eye.

"I tripped and knocked myself out on top of an ant hill when I was eleven. They were everywhere by the time I came to," I muttered, a blush staining my cheeks.

Heaving an exaggerated sigh, he pulled me towards the lake, lugging the picnic basket he'd brought along for my benefit, and for the sake of appearances, though who was likely to see us, I didn't know. I supposed those were the advantages of owning your own private lake in the middle of the woods. He set the basket down on the beach and produced a lemon. I was, to say the least, perplexed.

"Come here," he said, holding out one of his long, elegant hands.

"Why, do I need marinating before you can eat me?" I asked petulantly, my lower lip protruding as I tried to inconspicuously rub my calves together, surreptitiously scratching the horrible itch creeping up my legs. The look on his face told me that he was – mostly – not amused, but I was quickly forgiven when I took his hand and let him lead me to the base of a small, stunted tree growing near the shore. He expertly spread a large blanket under the tree, in its small pool of shade, with a slight flick of the wrist. I rolled my eyes. Show off. He dragged the basket over, then pulled me down to sit on the blanket and sat across from me, cross-legged.

Before I knew it, he had pulled my hideous, disease-ridden legs into his lap, and he had begun spreading lemon juice along the inflamed areas.

"Seriously, what's the big idea with the lemon?" I asked, still clueless. His mischievous grin was far from reassuring.

"Trust me, I'm a doctor," he said. Not for the first, or even second time today, I rolled my eyes at him.

"Just because you've been to medical school more times than Louis Pasteur doesn't make you a doctor," I said peevishly. His raised one perfect eyebrow at me.

"Louis Pasteur?"

"Shut up, I couldn't think of anyone else."

He laughed affectionately, the sun shattering into millions of brilliant sparkles as he leaned backwards into the sun. Before I knew it, though, he was hovering over me, his face mere inches from mine. My heart beat doubled, and I could feel my cheeks grow warmer. All my senses seemed sharper – I could distinctly feel the weave of the blanket, each individual thread leaving its own imprint in my skin. Overhead, I could see each individual leaf, I could smell the lake, hear every wave, the grating of the pebbles as the water washed over them. And yet, I saw and heard and felt none of them; they were irrelevant. My world consisted entirely of Edward, his scent, the fierce gold of his smouldering eyes, his impish grin, the points of cold where our skin met, the sound of his unhurried breath.

His lips were on my throat, a trail of fire tracing its way behind them as he left a series of kisses from chin to earlobe.

"Acid," he whispered, before kissing my ear. I nodded as if that made any sense, my arms twining around his neck, trying to pull him closer. He did not pull away as I expected him to, but instead continued to caress my face and neck with his lips.

"Wait, what?" I suddenly asked, breaking free of my dazzled stupor. He chuckled, taking in my confused face. With one cold finger, he smoothed the wrinkles creasing my brow, then trailed it down the side of my face. Despite the unseasonably warm day, I shivered. He sat back up, pulling me along with him.

"Acid. From the lemon. Poison ivy is an oil-based contaminant, the lemon juice is an acid, and cuts through the oil. It won't get rid of all of it, but it's a start," he said, rummaging in the basket again. He produced a large box of table salt. "This should help too; we'll just rub it on and that will lift the layer of contaminated epidermis, as well as soaking up any remaining oil. It won't entirely solve the problem but it should keep it from spreading and getting worse. Of course, you should also remove any clothing which may have contacted the plant." He eyed my boots, socks, t-shirt, and shorts.

"And then what will I wear?" I asked, nearly certain he'd have an answer for me.

"Well, I suppose you could wear this," he replied, suddenly displaying a rather expensive looking bag, containing, I assumed, an equally expensive swimsuit.

"Would I be wrong if I guessed Alice had packed that basket?"

"Got it in one."


	3. Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny

Bowing to the inevitable, I had Edward close his eyes and hold a blanket around me while I stripped and put on the suit. I got everything on, then grabbed the blanket from him and wrapped it around myself. I felt so…exposed. Alice's note in the bag, reminding me not to be bashful as Edward and I would soon be married and who saw what wouldn't matter, had not been helpful, despite the cute little smiley face she had doodled at the bottom.

"You can open your eyes now. And the next time you see her, be sure to tell Alice that she's very funny, would you?" He looked confused by my sour expression and plaid cover-all.

"Funny? What do you mean?" It was hard to tell if he really had no idea, or if he was feigning innocence to get a glimpse of the ridiculous assemblage of straps and tiny patches of fabric that someone had the nerve to call a swimsuit. He was tugging at the edge of the blanket now, trying to see what was so amusing, while I hoped that the tiny suit would stay in place and do its job of keeping me almost modest.

"No fair," I protested, trying to shift the focus away from me. "I'm nearly naked, and you're wearing pants and a shirt. Where's your swimsuit?" I stalled, feeling even more self-conscious.

"Nearly naked, eh?" he asked, a devilish grin lighting his angelic features. "Hm. Well, we vampires prefer to swim au naturel, actually"

"Don't you worry about fish…" I began without thinking, then broke off when I saw the amusement rising in his eyes. "Never mind," I muttered.

"As it happens, it seems Alice did think of everything, Ms. Modesty," he teased. My cheeks flamed even redder, even though I knew he didn't mean anything by it. Before I could say anything else, his shirt was lying in the sand at my feet. I looked away quickly, not wanting him to think I was ogling his partial nudity, though heaven knew I had ogled his fully clothed form often enough. For the fortieth time that day, I was glad that he couldn't read my mind. At the moment, my thoughts were filled with daydreams and fantasies about the hard planes of his chest, the perfectly sculpted contours of his arms, the – focus! I snapped at myself as I realized his pants were about to join his shirt.

"Whoa! Slow down there, cowboy. How about some blanket while you do that? I don't want to see…well, not that I don't want to see you…I mean, I do want to see…that is…what I mean is…I want to…" die, I finished silently. I want the beach to open up and swallow me whole. My cheeks were almost painfully aflame as I tried to compose myself. I looked carefully away, examining the warm sand working its way between my toes as Edward chuckled to himself.

"Now you know how I feel," he admitted, brushing his cool hands across the back of my shoulders. "All done," he said smugly, not two seconds later. Sure enough, there he was, sporting a deep green pair of swim trunks. "Ready for a swim?"

I blinked at him, looked at his outstretched hand, and sighed in defeat.

"No," I grumbled, finally letting the blanket fall away. He stood speechless before me, as I averted my gaze.

When at last Edward could speak again, he said, "Remind me to thank Alice when we get home." Next thing I knew, he had scooped me up and carried me to the water, where he waded out into the waves, holding me to him, laughing at my itsy bitsy, teeny weeny, yellow polka-dot bikini.


	4. Feeding the Human

We played in the lake until the sun finally began to sink, back-lighting the bank of clouds hovering on the horizon before fading into a dull orange glow that seemed to float on the water, turning the waves a rich gold. Exhausted, I trudged up the beach to our blanket and flopped down like a beached fish. Edward lay himself down gracefully next to me. A kiss landed on my temple, and I rolled over to curl up against him.

"How are your legs?" he asked, stroking my arm with his delicate finger tips.

"Hideous, but I'll survive," I replied, looking at the blotchy mess below my knees. My stomach suddenly rumbled, and I realized I was ravenous. Edward gave me my favourite crooked smile, then scooped me up, blanket and all, retrieved the basket, and set off into the woods. He talked as we went.

"Poison ivy normally lasts about four weeks if left untreated, but you'll probably be fine sooner rather than later. I think we treated it quickly enough that you may escape with only the rash, rather than blisters. Enough of that, though. How about some dinner?"

"I don't recall seeing any irritable grizzlies in that basket," I teased.

"That's just as well. I prefer mountain lion, remember?" he teased back. I was glad we were at a comfortable enough place to joke like this, at last. "And anyway, I ate yesterday."

"Well, so did I." It was his turn to roll his eyes.

I wasn't quite sure where we were going since this morning's hike had led straight from the car to the beach, but suddenly, there in the lowering gloom, I could see a tent and picnic table, complete with camp stove and…was that a generator?! Leave it to the Cullens to camp in high style. I shook my head as he set me carefully on the top of the table.

"Really, Edward, don't you think you're getting a little carried away with all this 'human' stuff? How can you possibly justify spending tons of money on camping equipment you'll never need or use?" His spending habits were a continual source of exasperation to me.

"Now, Bella, how can you say I'll never use it when, clearly, I currently am. And anyway, it's good for the local economy. You wouldn't want poor Mike's family to have to close up shop and leave Forks, would you?" The glint in his eye assured me he was joking, but I thought I could detect a faint trace of hopefulness as he contemplated the possible departure of his long-disliked rival. I must have been still for a moment or two too long, because next thing I knew, he was by my side, arms around my waist.

"Tell me what you're thinking." An order, not a question.

"I was just thinking…how much my legs itch!" His serious expression cracked, and he laughed again, pulling me to his chest.

"Then first we'll start with another salt rub, and then we'll have a bottle of…" I waited for him to say something ridiculous, like Vichy water or champagne. "Calamine!" he finished, producing a small pink bottle from a first aid kit the size of my ancient computer hard drive. I considered being insulted for a moment, but decided it was silly to be irritated by something that was, in reality, a very good idea. He held my legs straight out, and began applying the pale pink goop with a gentle dabbing motion. Soon, his fingers were quite as pink as my legs.

"Better?" he asked, his forehead pressed to mine, eyes boring deep into mine. My poor heart stuttered, having a hard time keeping a rhythm as I breathed in his heady scent.

"No fair. How can I answer honestly when I can't feel my legs anymore?" I gasped. A wicked grin lit his features.

"Well, it seems we've found a solution to your itching then. I just need to distract you." With that, his lips were on mine, cool and gentle. My heat was beating erratically now, and my vision was beginning to blur, the trees swimming hazily in and out of focus. "Breathe, Bella," he whispered with a chuckle. I gasped a huge lungful of air and tried to gather my thoughts again. Before I could say anything, my traitorous stomach grumbled again, bringing us back to reality.

"I have to feed you!" he exclaimed, looking chagrined, as though he'd forgotten something vitally important. A moment later, as I was clambering down from the table top, he set a bowl of salad, cold chicken, and potatoes, before me.

"Edward! Don't you think that's a little extravagant for a camping trip? Most people eat hot dogs or beans, you know."

"That stuff will kill you, Bella," he replied, trying to look shocked. "I mean, that would be like me having squirrels or gophers for breakfast – full of empty calories and high in fat. And anyway, you should be glad – you wouldn't believe the stuff Alice was trying to pack. I had to veto the caviar, and I was pretty sure you wouldn't be impressed by pheasant under glass." His smirk was too tempting. I couldn't help it. I launched myself at him with a laugh, flinging my arms around his neck.

"Well, alright then. It was all pretty good, too, but I think I'm ready for dessert, now," I whispered, pressing my lips to his cheek.

"Bella, behave please."

"Who's gonna make me?"


	5. How to Own a Lake

Bella was making it incredibly difficult for me to restrain myself. The glittering diamond on her left hand, the one that said, unequivocally, that she was mine, didn't help either. I was beginning to think that letting Emmett talk me into this trip had been a gross error in judgement, even without the poison ivy incident. I had to admit, though, that seeing her in that bikini was nearly recompense enough for the torture the next few days would be. I grinned inwardly, wrapping my arms more securely around her slim waist as our lips danced to a fiery rhythm. Intoxicating. There was no other word for her.

"Bella," I said, pulling slightly, and reluctantly, away from her delicate mouth. Her fingers, twined in my hair, pulled me ever closer in response.

"Bella." I said her name again, my breath more ragged than I'd expected, my voice huskier and rougher than I'd planned. She finally loosened her hold, opening her beautiful eyes.

"Edward. What's wrong?" she asked, doubt filling her eyes, clouding the normally brilliant, deep brown orbs. I sighed internally. Of course she would think something was wrong. It still killed me that, even though we were engaged, due to be married in less than two months, she still worried that she had made some fatal faux pas.

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong. In fact, it's all far too perfect. But my self-control can only take so much battering before, well, let's just not push our luck, alright, especially since it seems that if it weren't for bad luck, you'd have none at all." Understanding dawned in her eyes, and a small smirk puckered her lips.

"True enough, I guess. It's just so easy to forget when you're here. I feel practically invincible with you," she sighed, a sweet blush pinking her cheeks deliciously. I stroked her cheekbones lightly, savouring the heat emanating from her flushed face. I was so lucky she had chosen me, had taken me back. She had no idea how grateful I was for that second chance.

I shook off my melancholy train of thought before it could spoil the mood. Bella was far too observant not to notice if I drifted off into my own little world, and too astute not to guess what I was thinking of. I wracked my brain trying to think of things people did on camping trips. So many of them centred around fire, and I was hesitant to start one, given the potential for damage to Bella, as well as to myself. I was about to suggest a tour of the local flora and fauna, but the realized that the sun had set and the foliage, though perfectly clear to me, would be just a large, dark, greenish blur to Bella. Luckily, she saved me from myself.

"Hey, how'd you guys end up owning this land, anyway?" she suddenly asked. This was a question I could handle, unlike so many which had been raised in recent months, and I was glad for the distraction.

"Well, that is an interesting story. As you know, Carlisle came over to the Americas in the late 1800's. It was during one of his more experimental phases of life, and for some unfathomable reason, he decided to try his hand at prospecting. Naturally, he had an edge over other prospectors, since metals are fairly easy to identify by smell, and he wasn't restricted by daytime hours. He ran a small frontier hospital for a while, which occupied the daylight hours, when he had to seem inconspicuous and part of the society, and by night, he mined silver.

"Montana had only been part of the United States since 1803, and by the 1850's was in the midst of a gold rush. That eventually died down, and the area became, gradually, more settled. The Indian Wars shook things up a bit, but that passed as well, and by the time Carlisle arrived, the area was thriving, but still had large tracts of untamed land. While most of the major silver mines had already been opened, Carlisle was able to find a deeper vein on a plot of land near a small, pristine lake. He filed a claim, built a house, and stayed on for several years as the local doctor. The Native Americans in the area gave his property a wide berth, but the other humans were not suspicious at all.

"The lake and surrounding land has been in the family ever since. Carlisle still has the deed somewhere, too." I watched as her eyes grew wider and wider, wondering, I thought, if I was telling her tall tales, but it seemed she believed me.

"Is the house still standing? Could we see it?" she asked eagerly, jumping up.

"Actually, I don't know. I didn't really think to ask, but I'd be surprised if it was anything more than a jumble of broken boards and rotted out wood. But if you want to, we can go take a look in the morning. I have vague idea of where it should be." I glanced at my watch. It was nearly ten o'clock. "Aren't you tired?" I asked. She was about to answer when a huge yawn overtook her.

"Nope. I'm not a bit sleepy."

"You're a terrible liar."

She laughed, brushing her long locks out of her eyes. I resisted the urge to run my fingers through it. Wordlessly, she held out her hands, her eyes never leaving mine, and began pulling me towards the tent I'd put up earlier that morning, while she had slumbered in the car.

"I might be a terrible liar, but I'm good at a lot of other things," she teased, raising one eyebrow seductively. This would be a very long night.


	6. Are We Going to the Circus?

The tent was spacious enough to house most of the Forks High football team, which shouldn't have surprised me, I supposed, given Edward's penchant for overdoing things. One end was given over to a pile of cushions in shades of black and gold, which reminded me of Edward's room at home. I paused. Funny. I already thought of the big white house on the river as 'home' despite the fact that I still had my room at Charlie's, and a room at Renee's. I sighed happily, choosing to ignore the extravagance of the tent in favour of happy thoughts about having Edward forever.

"I don't suppose you'd take kindly to my trying to seduce you, would you?" I asked, only half seriously. I immediately regretted it as Edward's face darkened, his granite lips becoming a tight, compact line in his gorgeous face.

"Bella…"

"I know, I know. I'll behave. Probably." I kissed his cheek, then continued to survey the palatial shelter. To the left of the entrance was a large inflatable mattress, covered with what looked like satin sheets, again in black, with gold pillow cases covering huge, fluffy pillows. My eyes flitted to his face momentarily, only to find him watching me intently, as usual. I raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. I didn't even want to consider contemplating the cost of the sheets, but I was reasonably sure that Newton's didn't stock them.

Across from the bed were a couple of folding camp chairs, a folding table, and a battery-powered lantern. A copy of Wuthering Heights lay next to it. My hand found Edward's, and gave it a squeeze. It was just like him to think of something like that.

Overall, the effect was warm and comforting. The compact space heater in the right front corner didn't hurt the warmth, either. He thought of everything.

"Do you like it?" he asked, sliding his arm around my waist. The note of uncertainty in his voice was endearing, and I couldn't keep from grinning at him.

"It's great, Edward. Overkill, but very nice," I answered, curling in closer to him. My watch told me, when I glanced at it, that it was shortly after ten. Usually I wasn't so tired by ten, but it had been a long day. Unsuccessfully, I tried to stifle another yawn, but failed spectacularly.

"I should let you get ready for bed," he said, turning to go outside. "Your pyjamas are under the pillow, and there's a pump outside if you want to brush your teeth or anything. I can show you after." He still sounded uncharacteristically nervous, but I couldn't fathom why. Choosing to ignore it for the moment, I smiled and rummaged under the covers, expecting to find my baggy plaid pyjama bottoms and the old tank top I usually slept in. Instead, my hands encountered something silky and frilly, and definitely never purchased by me. Alice, again. I pulled the nightie, which was really hardly longer than a camisole, from beneath the pillow, hoping this would be the last surprise of the evening.

Glancing self consciously over my shoulder, I slipped out of the bikini, wondering if I wouldn't be better to sleep in it, since the nightgown didn't cover much more. Not quite sure where to put it, I dropped the bathing suit on the floor near the bed, glaring at the itty bitty-ness of it. The nightgown, a sleek pink affair which looked like, and probably was, vintage 1930's, slid over my head effortlessly, settling perfectly on my slim frame. A definite sense of over-exposure settled over me as I craned my neck to get a better look at myself.

The front was a v-shape falling down from miniscule spaghetti straps, and the back was a rounded scoop that fell just below my shoulder blades. The whole thing came to my mid-thigh. Definitely more skin than I normally showed, but it couldn't be helped; I had been forbidden to pack anything without Alice's express permission, and she had vetoed every item of clothing I had tried to pack. The only items I had been allowed to bring were the clothes I was wearing (which Alice picked out because I allegedly had, in her words, 'no concept of acceptable apparel for outdoor adventuring or indoor adventuring.' The last bit had been said with a particularly devious grin). I had also been allowed my bathroom bag, but not until after an inspection to make sure I wasn't smuggling underwear or something.

Leaning out the doorway of the tent, I looked quickly for Edward. I noticed immediately that the dinner dishes had been put away, as had the first aid kit and our swimming gear. He was leaning on the picnic table, looking utterly at ease, which was in stark contrast to the fluttery, semi-panicked feeling I had, which I knew was stupid. It wasn't like this was the first night we'd spent together, but it was among the few where we'd been completely alone, with no chance whatsoever of discovery or interruption. Edward noticed me almost immediately, alerted, no doubt, by the rather loud sound of the zipper opening in the nearly silent night.

"Wow. I think I may owe Alice another new car when we get back."

"Yeah, and I owe her something, too," I answered grimly, eyes narrowed. The cooling air caressed my skin, raising a trail of goose bumps on my arms and legs. Edward laughed at my hollow threat, then crossed the distance between us in two long strides. "Need a human moment?"

"Are you telling me I smell?" I teased, taking his extended hand with the hand that wasn't holding my bathroom bag.

"Not at all. Um, the pump is kind of around the corner, but I realized you don't have shoes, so I brought you a pail of water." Ever the gentleman. He hung a lantern on one of the tent poles. I stepped onto the small mat under the flysheet, and took the proffered water. Edward ducked into the tent while I cleaned up. I brushed my teeth twice, scrubbed my face in the chill water, and then, very carefully, I washed the calamine from my legs. They itched significantly less than they had even an hour ago, and I didn't want to ruin the sheets with the dusty pink gunk. Finally calm, I was just about to dump the bucket when Edward emerged again, and did it for me.

I blinked when I saw him. Though he had often spent the night curled up next to me on my narrow little bed, I had never once seen him dressed in anything other than his normal clothes. Because he never slept, I had assumed he didn't own sleepwear. It turned out I was wrong. He was bare-chested, his skin glowing faintly in the moonlight seeping through the canopy of trees. My breath stuttered. No matter how often I saw him like this, I never got used to the surreal perfection of his body. His legs were encased in black silk pyjama bottoms that billowed gently in the night breeze. An involuntary shiver scampered up my back.

"Ready for bed?" he inquired, putting the bucket back down and unhooking the lantern. Nodding, I followed him inside, suddenly nervous again. "You look…beautiful" he whispered. My cheeks warmed.

"Thanks," I murmured, standing awkwardly near the doorway. When it became apparent that I was unsure how to proceed, he reached for my hand, and led me around to the far side of the bed. He pulled aside the black, gold-edged blanket, scooped me up, and sat me gently on the bed. It was firmer than I had expected. I pulled the blanket over my legs, smoothing it over my thighs. The bed shifted as Edward sat on the other side, holding the lantern aloft for a moment before turning it off.

"Goodnight," he whispered, kissing my forehead.

"Is that all I get?" I pouted.

"For now. It's late, and you should sleep. I have a lot of things planned for tomorrow, and I don't want you falling asleep on me mid-hike." I groaned. Hiking. Right.

"Just for that, I think I'll stay up all night," I muttered, leaning towards him, letting my lips find his throat as my fingers wandered over his bare chest. I revelled in the smooth hardness of the sculpted contours, hard muscle under marble skin, my own personal Apollo. My foot trailed up his calf as I nuzzled his jaw, my nose brushing his ear, inhaling his intoxicating scent.

Almost positive he would sigh and push me away, I was taken by surprise when he abruptly rolled sideways, angling his body so that he hovered over me. Our lips met in a hard collision, fire coursing through me as his one of his pianist's hands trailed over my hipbone, grasped my thigh. I hooked my other leg around his waist, trying to pull him closer. My hands tangled in his hair as he trailed a fiery path of kisses from my temple to my breastbone. His breathing, like mine, was growing ragged, and my heart had begun beating out a fast, staccato tattoo, stuttering every now and again as some new nerve was brushed by his icy lips or fingers.

Without warning, Edward suddenly ceased moving, his lips still on my throat, his hand frozen on my leg.

"Edward, what…" but he placed a finger on my lips, silencing me, before I could finish the sentence. Before I knew it, he was up and out the front flap of the tent. Before I could take another breath, or wonder what had just happened, he was back by my side.

"Thought I heard something," he muttered, but I could hear the lie in his voice. The only thing he had heard was the beat of desire and the pounding of my heart. This was about the wedding and virtue and convention. Again. Well, I wouldn't let that ruin my evening.

"Was it anything?"

"Just some raccoons."

"Oh, were you in the mood for a snack?"

"Very funny, Bella. Now, go to sleep."

"Okay, Edward. Okay." And with that, I turned over, curled myself into his side, and fell asleep with his arm draped around my waist and his fingers in my hair, the sound of my lullaby filling my senses as I drifted off.


	7. What Dreams May Come

She had sensed the lie in my excuse, I knew that, but I was grateful she hadn't pressed the issue. Resisting Bella was the most difficult thing I'd ever had to do, and she certainly didn't make it any easier, despite the fact that she'd agreed with me that we should wait for our wedding night. Sometimes, I thought her seductiveness was vengeance for my many sins against her, but I knew it wasn't in her to be cruel. At last her eyes fluttered shut and her heartbeat slowed.

The rhythmic sound of her breath and the slow beat of her heart were comforting, and I felt myself relaxing. Outside our little refuge, the wind was gently stirring the leaves, a faint rustle in otherwise still night. Far, far in the distance, I could hear the scurrying of small animals, but they all stayed quite far from our camp site, no doubt sensing the fearful predator in their midst. A sense of melancholy engulfed me as I pondered this.

In my arms, Bella stirred, turning in towards me, her arms sliding around my neck. I tried to gently tuck the blanket more closely around her, knowing the thin silk nightgown would offer her no protection from my deathly chill. My fingers traced meaningless patterns on her back. Her eyelids were moving gently as she dreamed.

Her lips parted ever so slightly, letting a soft sigh escape as she shifted again. She murmured my name, and a faint thrill rushed through me.

"Mmm, Edward. No, Edward, no, I don't want elephants at the wedding. Tell Alice 'no,' she'll listen to you." I couldn't help but chuckle. She thought Alice would listen to me! It was true what they said – dreams never made sense.

"No, Alice, I don't want clowns, either. They'll clash with the bridesmaid's dresses." I had to put a conscious effort into not laughing. As it was, I was afraid that the suppressed shaking of my body would wake her, but she merely curled a little closer to me.

"Do I really have to wear those shoes? They're so high…I'm afraid of heights, why do they have to be so high. Couldn't I wear my sneakers, they'll match the flowers so nicely…"

There were few things in life I enjoyed more than listening to Bella dream, and normally it was amusing, but this was beyond hilarious. The closer we got to the wedding, the stranger her dreams were becoming, often seeming to centre around strange decorations, uninvited guests, and unconventional attire. My favourite so far had been the night she dreamed Alice wanted her to wear a full suit of armour, and all the guests were dressed as Klingon warriors. The decorations for that one had included Han Solo in carbon, wreaths of carnivorous flowers, and a flock of enormous butterflies which escorted us to our getaway vehicle which was, naturally, the Batmobile.

After a long while of tossing and turning, she finally settled on her side of the bed. Her long chestnut hair tumbled over her shoulder, a fine, lacy mesh on her bare arms. I could have stared at her for hours, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her full, red lips moved from relaxed line to gentle smile. Eternity would be bearable if only I could have her to look at, to touch, to hold, and caress, and love.

I got up once she had rolled completely away from me, and settled myself on the pile of cushions at the far end of the tent, Wuthering Heights in hand. I still couldn't really fathom what she saw in the book, but nevertheless it was a good distraction. By the time the sun had started to peek over the horizon, I had finished the novel, and Bella was beginning to stir. I had spent a few minutes planning the day ahead, and I was excited to get going.

Her arm stretched out, her hand seeking something, and when she didn't find it, her eyes flew open. I was at her side in a moment, grinning at her as sunlight streamed through one of the open windows, lighting her face with an angelic glow.

"Morning," she said sleepily, rubbing her eyes and pushing her hair away from her face.

"Morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Mmm, such strange dreams."

"Really? About what?"

"The wedding mostly. By the way, you look really weird in wizard's robes, just for future reference, in case you ever wonder." I kissed her then, catching her laugh with my lips.

"Can't say as I've ever wondered about that, but I'll make a note of it. Are you ready for breakfast?" I asked, stroking her shoulder.

"Sure, but maybe I should get dressed first," she answered, looking askance at the delicate silk nightgown she was wearing. I wouldn't have minded if she stayed in it all day, but I supposed the practicalities of camping had to be respected.

"Of course. I believe Alice packed you an outfit for today. It's in a package labelled 'day one;' while you dress, I'll get breakfast ready."

"Thanks, Edward," she said, suddenly shy again. I still found her bashfulness endearing, and couldn't resist planting another kiss on her forehead before ducking out of the tent. This would be a wonderful day, and I couldn't wait for it to start.


	8. Breaking Bread at Dawn

The morning was crisp and clear. A faint haze of mist lingered in the treetops, glittering in the early rays of the sun. The moist air smelled clean and fresh, carrying the tang of rich earth, mouldering leaves, and lake. Mingling with all of these natural aromas, was the scent of bacon, eggs, pancakes, and real maple syrup. My mouth was already watering as these familiar smells wafted into the tent through the open window, and I fumbled with the zipper in my haste to get outside.

I had momentarily considered protesting the outfit Alice had assembled for me. The price tags had, mercifully, been removed, but there was no concealing the brand name labels. Burberry sneakers, a Burberry polo, and Citizens of Humanity jeans – I cringed just to think how many hours I would have had to work at Newton's Olympic Outfitters just to afford even part of the outfit. I would have much rather had my familiar old jeans, bought for $29.95 at Wal-Mart, and a button down stolen from Charlie's closet, but I was in the middle of nowhere, and there was nothing to be done for it.

The sight that met my eyes when I was finally dressed was definitely worth the horror of wearing such expensive clothes in such a rough setting. Edward had thrown a delicate-looking, dark blue satin table cloth, overlaid with lace, over the rough, weathered wood. Not content to settle for disposable dishes, or even plastic as most campers would have, he had packed a full place setting of Wedgewood china in a delicate pattern of strawberries, as well as long-stem crystal, actual silver cutlery, and real linen napkins. A tall, thin vase held a single white lily. The plate placed delicately amid all this finery offered the most sumptuous breakfast I had seen in a long time; as my nose had suggested, there were crisp slices of rich brown bacon, scrambled eggs with mushroom and green onion, fluffy pancakes swimming in butter and syrup, and, as a lovely surprise, a bowl of fresh strawberries. My mouth was watering, but even this glimpse of ambrosia could not hold my attention.

Standing motionless and serene by the side of the table was Edward, his chest still bare, though jeans had replaced the pyjama bottoms. His skin glittered brilliantly, throwing dancing rainbows across the small clearing. The sun was playing in his hair, causing the bronze to shimmer and gleam. Warm butterscotch eyes regarded me, an amused smile playing across his lips. He held out a long, elegant hand to me, and I took it, my skin erupting in goose bumps at his touch. It was all I could do not to leap upon him right then, despite the fact that I knew it would do me no good.

"Hungry?" he asked, leading me to bench.

"Yes, actually," I said, still unable to look away from his ridiculous beauty.

"I hope it's okay…I've never really cooked anything, but I have it on good authority that most people enjoy bacon and eggs and pancakes." His look of uncertainty was adorable.

"Relax, Edward. If the smell is anything to go by, you've nailed it," I laughed, laying one hand on his cheek. I grabbed the fork, and dug in, letting my facial expressions convey what my mouth was too busy to. He watched each bite I took with fascination, and I wondered what he was thinking. Before I could ask, however, he launched into a description of the day's plans.

"So, first I was thinking we could check out Carlisle's old place, see if it's still standing, and then we can have a picnic lunch in this little clearing I found earlier, and in the afternoon, we can go swimming again, if you want, or we could go horseback riding – there's a ranch not too far away that would lend us some horses. For supper, I was thinking we could drive into town and have dinner at a restaurant, maybe take in a movie or something. What do you think?"

"I think you should stop and take a breath before you suffocate," I said, patting him on the hand. His enthusiasm was catching, but the list of activities he had reeled off was making my head spin. "Do you think maybe we could simplify that list, just a tad?"

"Of course. Tell me what you'd like to do, and we'll do it."

"Let's decide together; I don't want to veto anything you really want to do, okay? So here's what I think. I really want to see the house, and of course lunch is sort of necessary, though I hope it won't be quite so elaborate as breakfast," I grinned at him, waving the strawberry I had just speared at him. "Horseback riding sounds fun, but you know how accident prone I am, so I don't know if it's a great idea. And after that, I'm all for just hanging around here, roasting a couple of wieners, and watching the sun set."

"That sounds perfect. And don't worry about the horses – Alice said you'll be fine," he grinned with a wink, patting my hand. I had my doubts, but you wouldn't catch me betting against Alice. I scraped the last bit of syrup from my plate, feeling over-stuffed and content. I raised my arms straight over my head, stretching my slightly stiff muscles. Swimming had really taken it out of me.

"Sore?" he asked, concern colouring his tone as I winced and my shoulders popped.

"Just a little stiff. It's been a while since I've been anywhere where the water was warm enough to swim in. First Beach is nice, but it's never warm," I replied, a wistful note in my voice.

"Would you like a massage?"

"Not if you want to see that house today," I laughed, kissing his cheek.

"Alright, maybe later," he laughed back, a devilish grin on his face. "Are you almost ready to go?"

"Whenever you are, boss. I think I saw a jacket in the tent. Let me grab it, and I'll be good to go," I said, wiping my mouth on the soft napkin. I had never really understood the purpose of linen napkins, at least in the modern world. There were so many substances that could permanently stain a piece of material, and there were such a variety of pretty paper napkins, that I could hardly imagine a reason anyone would persist in using the old-fashioned linens. Of course, the average girl's boyfriend wasn't 100+ years old.

"Okay, you do that, and I'll clean up."

"Do you want any help? I feel bad letting you do all the work when I get all the benefit, and you don't get anything," I said, feeling awkward and useless as I watched his long hands efficiently stack the dishes and pile them neatly in a bucket of soapy water, wash the sticky remnants away, dry them, and place them all the carefully into a large basket.

"No, Bella, I will take care of it. You spend your whole life looking after other people; I just want to take care of you this week," he replied, and then, more quietly, "and for the rest of your life." I smiled a little to myself, then turned and ducked into the tent to rummage around in the atrociously large suitcase for a jacket. Burberry again. I slipped it on, though the day was already warming, and zipped the tent behind me. Edward was standing outside the tent, a backpack slung across his shoulders, and an impish grin on his face. "Ready?"

"Let's do this!" With that, he grabbed my hand, and we set off into the brush, the sun warm on our faces, and the breeze at our backs. It promised to be a lovely day.


	9. The House of the Good Doctor

We'd been hiking through the bush for nearly two hours before we saw any sign of anything other than small mammals and pine trees. The smell of sage was thick in the air as we walked through patches of Fringed Sagewort. It was a familiar, comforting scent in this otherwise alien place. I had never seen anything quite like Montana. As we walked, Edward reeled off the names of unfamiliar plants – Skunkbush Sumac, Arrowleaf Balsamroot, Idaho Fescue. Most of the names meant nothing to me, though I did recognize ones like Ponderosa pine and Douglas-fir.

My long hair was pulled up into a braided ponytail, and Edward, on one of our frequent rest stops, gathered a bunch of Blanket flowers, which looked like small sunflowers, and wove them into my braid. It was shortly after this that we stumbled (well, I stumbled, Edward caught me, graceful as a cat) upon a rough path worn through the grass, but so overgrown with plants and covered with fallen pine needles, that had Edward not pointed it out, I wouldn't have noticed it at all. It had clearly been many, many years since anyone had used it.

"Let's go this way," Edward suggested. "I have a good feeling about this little trail."

"Sure. Is it in the direction we want to go?" I asked, since I didn't really have any idea where we were going, and I suspected Edward either knew exactly where we were going, or else he was as clueless as I.

"Generally, I think. Carlisle showed me a map before we left, but some of the landmarks have changed in the last hundred or so years." There was evasion in his tone, which made me think that, not only did he know precisely where we were going, but he also had something up his sleeve.

"What kind of house was it, Edward?" I asked, trying to catch him in a mistake, hoping he'd speak in the present, instead of the past tense.

"It was a large structure by the day's standards, especially when compared to the other local dwellings, which were mainly prospector's cabins and shanties. Carlisle had a lot of money at his disposal, even then, and he had considered having it built of brick, which would have meant having it shipped in. He was still cautious about attracting too much attention, so he had it built, like the other local houses, out of wood boards. When he left the area, the house remained vacant, as it was quite far out of the main town, and it was on this large tract of land. He once described the house to me, and it sounded quite lovely. He designed it himself, and handles a lot of the work alone. There was a large covered porch that ran around the whole front of the house, and gabled windows on two floors. There was even a turret to one side, a tribute to his European beginnings, I suppose. I imagine the inside would have been much as his office at home is, warm and inviting. Pretences had to be maintained, of course, and so there would have been a kitchen in the house, and likely a summer kitchen at the back."

"It sounds like it was a beautiful place," I said, wishing I could see it. I loved that old-world charm, and had always been a sucker for porches and gabled windows.

"I imagine it was. Are you ready to stop again?" he asked, his pace slowing. We'd gone farther than I expected while he talked, and I realized I was parched.

"Yeah, that would be good. I could use a drink, too. Is there a stream or anything around here?" I asked, trying to recollect how far back we'd lost the sound of trickling water.

"Oh, no need for a stream; I packed a few bottles," he said, swinging to the ground the backpack I'd forgotten he was carrying. He tossed me a bottle which, miraculously, I caught and gulped down gratefully. It was deliciously cold, too, from being so close to his frigid skin. "Do you want to ride for a while?" he asked, when I was done resting and drinking. He didn't wait for me to answer, though, but instead slipped the backpack over my own shoulders, then hoisted me up and across his back. Before I could say anything, he was off and running, dodging tall Limber pines and bushy Big Sagebrush. I watched them all whiz by for a while, barely noticing the differences between the varieties of grasses and trees, only vaguely aware of blurs of purplish lupines, yellow blanket flowers and balsamroot. The wind flowing across my face was refreshing, and my shirt, which had grown sticky beneath my jacket as we'd hiked, was drying against my skin. My jacket, removed at the last rest stop, was tucked into the backpack, creating a cushion between my spine and the various bumpy objects in the bag.

Edward's smooth gait was soothing, and the landscape less than captivating, not to mention blurred, and I soon found myself drifting away, dozing lightly on his back. I felt his arms tighten around my legs as my grip on him loosened, and I smiled faintly before my eyes drooped closed, and I was lost to dreams of wedding fiascos and catering nightmares. It seemed like mere moments later that Edward was gently rubbing my shoulder, shaking me awake where I sat on the ground.

"We're here," he said, "I want your first view to be perfect, so I thought maybe you'd like to be awake." I smiled at his teasing tone.

"Awake definitely works better for seeing things." He took my hand and helped me to my feet, taking the backpack from me. Ahead, I could see a brightness where the light filtered into a clearing, the light unhampered by leaves or tree branches. We stepped together through the last bit of obscuring brush, and I sucked in a breath at the sight before me. Edward's grin was confirmation of my earlier theory – he had known perfectly well that the house was still standing, and exactly where to find it.

"Do you like it?" he asked, throwing an arm around my shoulder. I turned in toward him.

"It's perfect. It's so very Carlisle. You knew this was here, didn't you?" I asked, poking him in the ribs.

"Well, I might have glimpsed it earlier when I was out running," he said as he scooped me up. "Shall we go inside? The sun is hot, and I don't want you to burn that lovely pale skin."

"Tell me one thing first."

"Anything."

"How far are we from the campsite?" I'm sure if he could have blushed, he would have then.

"Uh, well, about half a mile, I guess," he answered sheepishly.

"We walked in circles all morning?"

"More like a square, really."

"Edward?"

"Yes?"

"You're lucky I like you."

"I know," he said, and kissed me.


	10. Memory is a Strange Thing

Bella wasn't really mad at me, I knew, for making her traipse around in the woods all morning, and it would have been so anti-climactic to just walk straight here from the campsite, but I worried that I'd tired her out. And I had enjoyed her expressions of rapt attention as I told her about the house. It was just the same as it had been when Carlisle first built it, and the look on her face had been worth the wait.

The house had been renovated in the mid 1900's, when Carlisle, Esme, and the rest of us 'children' had lived, albeit briefly, in the large dwelling deep in the Montana wilderness. If you looked west, you could see the mountains looming over the valley. It was truly something to behold, and I had enjoyed our short stay in the region.

Esme, as was her custom, had immediately set about restoring the house to its former glory. The sixty or so years since Carlisle had originally built the place had not been kind, and the wooden boards had rotted out in several places, including the porch, as Rosalie had discovered to her chagrin. I smiled fondly at the memory.

Although it had been nearly forty years since we had lived here, the house was still in excellent repair. A handyman was paid to come and inspect the place every six months or so, and to perform any necessary upkeep or repairs. As such, the house was still beautiful. The windows were all intact and quite clean, the roof was in excellent repair, and the walls, now built of brick faced with pressure treated lumber, were snug and sound.

I led Bella up the flagstone path from the circular drive to the front door. Her hands fluttered gently over the wooden railings of the porch, hesitated for a moment on the antique doorknob. I found her admiration charming.

"Shall we go in? I'd like to show you the rest of the house," I suggested gently when she seemed inclined to linger outside, perhaps to take advantage of the porch swing I had had installed earlier that week.

"Of course," she murmured, taking my outstretched hand. I unlocked the door, and let it swing open, pushing her gently ahead of me. I heard her gasp of delight as she took in all the period furnishings, which were, thanks to Esme, if not the original pieces, then close replicas.

"Nice, isn't it?" I asked, grinning from ear to ear. These were the moments I loved best – getting lost in time with Bella, watching her take pleasure from small things.

"It's wonderful, Edward, really beautiful," she replied, still stunned. I pulled her further into the house, and shut the door behind her.

"C'mon, I want to show you my room!" I said, realizing as I did so that I sounded much like an over-excited five year old, but I didn't care. I wanted so much for Bella to know everything there was to know about me, and this was one of the places I had been happy for a time. She followed me with energy, bounding up the stairs as fast as her human legs would allow.

At the top of the narrow flight of stairs there were four doors. On the far right was my door, the door to a room I had not entered in nearly half a century. I wondered if it would be as I remembered it. I wanted to rush there first, but restrained myself and let Bella explore at her leisure. I smiled encouragingly when she turned to look at me, her hand hovering above the doorknob of Carlisle and Esme's room. She turned it slowly, and cautiously pushed open the door. I followed behind her as she stepped tentatively across the threshold.

To one side was a large four-poster, complete with canopy and curtains. The material was a heavy damask, a lovely pattern of roses in rich red on a cream background. I watched her run her fingers over it, savouring the texture of the cloth.

"Esme and Carlisle?" she guessed, surveying the rest of the room, from the tall wardrobe dominating one corner, to the wing-back chairs with cabriole legs, and the tall dresser with delicate glass pulls. The intricately carved patterns in the woodwork drew her attention, and I watched as she traced them with her finger tips.

"Yes, this was their room. Esme was very fond of the Victorian style. She especially liked the motif of vines and foliage, as you will notice as we go through the house." Her eyes lingered momentarily on the framed portraits on the small round table between the two arm chairs.

"Edward, is that you? You haven't changed a bit!" she laughed, holding the frame for a moment. The sunlight streaming in the window fell on her hair, setting it aflame with streaks of red and gold. Her beauty was breathtaking. I committed this moment to memory, storing it for future use.

"Yes, Esme insisted on having portraits painted, rather than framing photographs, even though by the time we were all here together, portraiture was quite out of style," I explained. "Are you ready for another room?" She nodded, closing the door behind us as I led her by the hand to the next door. "Whose would you like to see next?"

"Hmm, how about Alice and Jasper?" I wondered if she would try to skip Rosalie and Emmett's, given Rosalie's continuing hostility toward her.

"Alright, across the hall, then, if you please." The door to this room opened noiselessly, a tribute to the excellent care taken by the handyman. I would have to be sure to mention to Carlisle the superb service being rendered here, so that he could make sure the man was handsomely repaid.

This room, like Esme and Carlisle's, was easily identifiable as belonging to its owners. Alice's spunky personality shone through in the décor, from the Art Nouveau furnishings to the brightly coloured bed linens.

"Open the closet," I suggested, knowing Alice had left behind a large collection of dresses, both in the style of the period (though she had not lived here at the time) and in the style of the years we had dwelt here. The period dresses had been her way of lending authenticity to the restoration, especially since we had not planned to live here on any permanent basis. Bella opened the heavy oak doors, and rolled her eyes.

"That's so Alice," she said, tugging at the sleeve of a pale blue silk number that was clearly a French import. I wondered vaguely how it would look on Bella, trying to picture in my mind the a-line skirt falling over her slim hips, the scooped neck baring her throat, the curve of her shoulders. I found I could easily imagine her fitting in at an elegant soiree, long white gloves covering her delicate arms, a fan clutched in one hand. I smiled wistfully, thinking to myself that she was like someone lost in time, born completely in the wrong century. And yet, it was the perfect century, because otherwise I would never have met her, and my whole purpose would be lost, my raison d'etre lost to the ravages of time.

"Are you okay?" her soft voice interrupted my reverie, and I realized I had been staring at her.

"Fine. I was just thinking how lovely that dress would have looked on you," I answered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. A thrill ran through me as a trail of goose bumps rose on her arms in response to my touch. It never ceased to amaze me that her body could respond to me that way, despite my predatory nature, despite the fact that death lingered in every kiss.

"Don't get any ideas, buster," she said, eyeing me suspiciously before grinning and poking me in the chest. I laughed, stealing another kiss, before pulling her to the next door.

"Come on, there's a ton more to see!" Before she could resist or protest, I let her into Rosalie and Emmett's room. Again, the furnishings were characteristic. Rosalie, like Esme, had favoured the Victorian style, but had leaned much more heavily on the ornately decorated elements, choosing richly carved pieces and expensive fabrics. Her attention was not held for long in this room, and I could feel her uneasiness at being in Rosalie's things, fearing, no doubt, that at some later date Rose would discover her visit and, in a fit of pique and pettiness, make both our lives miserable. She touched nothing in this room, and we left quickly.

"Saving the best for last," she said as we reached me room. This was the door to the tower, my own private sanctuary from the distractions of society. Her hand was on the knob, ready to turn it and enter my refuge, when I stopped her.

"Wait. I want to do this the right way," I said, keeping a perfectly straight face, even as her brows knit together in confusion. I bent slightly, slid my arms behind her knees and shoulders, and swept her up before pushing the door open. She threw her arms around my neck, her lips finding mine as I wandered blindly into the room I had occupied nearly half a century earlier. The wood floor was familiar under my feet, and I found I remembered where every piece of furniture was. I sidestepped each obstacle, making my way straight to the bed, where I set Bella gently. The simple wooden frame was a rich honey colour, a beautifully aged pine I had chosen myself. She looked at me curiously, trying to guess at my intentions, though I was not clear myself on what I was planning. The morning's outline was fast fading in my mind as I contemplated the possibility of staying here with her, making use of the bed which had, for fifty years, never once been slept in. I discarded that plan immediately. We had agreed to wait for the wedding. Virtue. That was important to us.

The wholesome Mission-style furniture should have been and excellent reminder of the innocence we were trying to preserve for a few more weeks, but I found it terribly easy to forget where we were if I let my attention focus on her alone. Temptation was something I was used to resisting, but it was getting harder and harder the closer we got. I lay next to her on the plain bed-coverings, propped on one elbow, watching her as she sat, perched on the very edge of the mattress, looking around.

"What do you think?" I asked, trailing my fingers down her back, twining a strand of hair around my index finger, leaning closer to inhale her intoxicating scent.

"It's wonderful, Edward. Does that still work?" she asked, pointing to the ancient Gramophone standing in the corner.

"As far as I know, shall we find out for sure?" I asked, thinking of all the records I owned, neatly stored in the cabinet beneath the old machine.

"Definitely!" I pulled her with me to the stack of phonographs I had collected over the years, many of them period originals. I flipped through them, rejecting the more modern recordings, choosing instead a classic from 1895, "The Band Played On." It was schmaltzy, but I thought she would like it.

"Here, this one," I said, slipping it from its protective sleeve and placing it on the turntable. I cranked the handle protruding from the side, carefully set the needle on the record, and let it go. The first notes began to fill the room, and I couldn't help myself. I took her by the waist, lifted her feet onto mine, and began to waltz around the room, holding her close, spinning through the centre of the room, dodging furniture. Though I had spent several happy years here, my memories of the space were not as sharp as I recalled, every moment fading the longer I stayed here with her, her light brightening my shadows, colouring my life more vibrantly than I would have ever thought possible. I knew that this day would be forever etched in my mind, a stronger memory than any I had previously created here.

"Edward," she gasped, laughter lighting her face, "what are you doing?"

"Waltzing with you," I said, as if it were obvious. I stole another kiss, never breaking our rhythm. Far too soon, the song was over, the crackle and hiss of the empty space on the record breaking the moment.

"You're crazy, you know that, right?" she asked, still wrapped around me.

"Yep. Crazy for you, that is," I replied. She rolled her eyes, then stood on the tips of her toes, stretching up to kiss me. A loud rumble interrupted her, and we both laughed. "Sounds like it's time for lunch!" I picked her up, slung her over my shoulder, and dashed down the stairs to the main floor.


	11. Afternoon Delight

anyway.

Watching Edward as we explored the house was enlightening. Never before had I seen him acting so…childlike. It was as if, for a moment or two, he really was just a seventeen year old boy, showing his girlfriend his room, his toys, his history. I couldn't help but smile. Until he hoisted me over his shoulder, that is.

The stairs bounced away behind us as I hung against his back, praying I wouldn't be sick. Thankfully, it was only one flight of stairs, and a moment later Edward was skidding to a stop in the front hall. He set me on my feet, and I tried to look reproachful, but couldn't quite maintain the scowl long enough as his enthusiasm crept over me.

"I want to show you everything, but first, lunch!" he exclaimed, pulling me by the hand down the narrow hall to the back of the house. We passed the parlour, the kitchen, and an office. I was expecting Edward to turn into the kitchen, but instead he led me to a very formal dining room. To my delight and surprise, the table was already laid, another extravagant spread.

"Edward, no. It's too much!" I said as I took in the crystal chandelier, which had been refitted with electrical wiring, the lace tablecloth, ornate silver flatware, and an entirely different set of china from this morning's setting. The crystal was delicate and beautifully patterned, complimented by a small decanter in a matching motif. The table glittered with silver platters covered by domed lids inlaid with gold in intricate designs. The effect was staggering. He really was getting a little carried away with things, though. Camping trip indeed!

"For you, Bella, nothing is too much. I only wish there were more I could give you, that you would let me give you," he said, a note of sadness in his voice. I couldn't understand him, even after all these months. He still didn't get it that just having him was enough for me, so much more than I would ever deserve.

"Edward, don't be an idiot. You've given me everything. You are all I want, now and forever, and the more you give me, the less I can…" my irritated reply was cut short as his cold lips landed gently on mine. He kissed me soundly, then pulled my face slightly back from his. Keeping his eyes locked with mine, he looked at me, very seriously, then leaned in close again, his mouth very close to my ear. I could feel the tickle of his cool breath on my neck, his lips brushing my earlobe. A small shiver ran up my spine, and I trembled, my body leaning in closer to his, unwilling to have him let me go.

"Your lunch is getting cold," he whispered, then leaned away, my favourite crooked grin in place, his eyes lit with suppressed mirth. I was tempted to punch him, but having tried that once before, albeit on a werewolf, not a vampire, I knew it was a losing proposition. Sighing in resignation, I reached for the back of the chair, but before I could lay a finger on it, Edward had slid it away from the table, and was holding it out for me. I sat gingerly on the fragile looking seat and was immediately swept back into place before the table. With a flourish, Edward lifted the first of the many covered dishes.

"Waldorf Salad," he said, "prepared according to the original recipe, as created in 1893. Esme found a box of old recipes at an estate sale several decades ago, but nobody ever tried any of them. What do you think?" I couldn't do anything but nod and smile, as my mouth was, at that precise moment, full of crisp apple, celery, tender walnuts, and a rich, creamy mayonnaise. Wonderful stuff. I had barely finished the salad, when Edward whisked the plate away, replaced it with the next dish, and uncovered another mouth-watering concoction. A warm wave of steam rose to meet my appreciative nose.

"I didn't know you could cook," I said as I tucked in to the prime rib and Yorkshire pudding. The roast was so tender it practically melted in my mouth. It was ambrosia, heaven…Edward, if he was edible.

"I've watched a few cooking shows. I figured, since we were getting married, it wouldn't really be fair for you to have to cook for yourself all the time. And it's a skill I'd been meaning to learn for a while, now," he explained, sitting next to me, leaning one elbow on the table, his head propped in his hand.

"I think you've nailed it," I said, wiping up the last of the au jus with the rest of the pudding. Although I was full almost to bursting, I still wished there was more. "When did you have time to pull this all off, anyway?"

"Well, I guess I do have a little confession to make. This camping trip wasn't really ever meant to be a camping trip. I really just wanted to show you the house," he said, grinning sheepishly. "I may have made a prior trip up here to stock the place. Also, you are a very sound sleeper. I ran over just before you woke up, so I could get things ready."

"You, sir, are a sneaky fellow. I think I like it," I said, trying not to look so surprised at the devious plans he had laid. He kissed my forehead, took the dirty plate away, and placed the last dish in front of me.

"If I recall correctly, I believe these are your favourite?" he lifted the dome to reveal the most luscious looking lemon bars I had ever seen in my life. Stuffed as I was, there was no way I was going to miss out on those.

"No fair. You know all my weaknesses," I sighed, my eyes closed in delight with the first mouthful.

"Well, you are all of mine, so maybe we're even," he said, so softly that I wasn't sure I was meant to hear. I would have made a face at him, but before I could, he was scooping up dishes and making them disappear into the kitchen at an alarming pace.

"Do you want any help with that?" I asked, but he only smiled and shook his head, the last of the fine china and crystal already disappearing around the corner in his capable hands.

"Just wait there for a moment, please," he said. I heard the splash of water and the clink of dishes, and then the sound of cupboards opening and closing. Less than two minutes later, Edward was back by my side.

"The rest of the house awaits you, Milady. Are you ready to continue the tour?" he asked with a deep bow, his arm extended toward me. I laughed out loud, but took his hand anyway.


	12. Clouds On the Horizon

"First, we have here the dining room, complete with table _and_ chairs." I laughed again. Suddenly he had transformed from giddy five year old to silly tour-guide.

I paused to examine the room, now that I wasn't so mesmerized by the array of shining dishes. The walls were tastefully decorated in pretty celadon green wallpaper. I traced the pattern with my free hand, the other being held firmly by my goofy guide.

"The pattern is called Kensington. It was hand printed in New England, and is authentic to the 1890's."

"Esme really went all out, didn't she?"

"Yes, she usually does. As she has frequently told me, if something is worth doing, it's worth doing right." I couldn't help but grin. "Anyway, shall we continue on to the next room?" I nodded, and followed him into the parlour.

It was just as perfectly refinished as the rest of the house. To one side, on a beautifully carved table set between two armchairs was a Tiffany lamp.

"Is that thing real?" I asked, eyes wide.

"Yes, it's an original, one of the first ones made, somewhere around 1895 or so." I was staggered. A priceless antique like that, just sitting around in an empty house in the woods. I shook my head, and continued my examination of the room. Victorian style had dominated here, and the furniture was reflective of that era. Near the window, which was tastefully dressed with long, rich brocade drapes, stood a beautiful sofa. The delicately curved legs and deeply tufted back of the cream-coloured upholstery. The wooden frame of the sofa, which matched the two arm chairs, was carved with roses and leaves. At the other end of the room was a gleaming upright piano topped by an elaborately patterned lace doily, upon which stood a vase of dried flowers and four framed portraits.

"Does that piano still work?" I wondered, running a hand over the smooth wooden lid which covered the old ebony and ivory keys.

"It does. Perhaps later I could play something for you," he suggested. I had hoped he might play something then, but it clearly was not to be, as he was suddenly spinning me out of the parlour, and down the hall to the office.

I had expected something similar to Carlisle's office at home, lots of rich wood, old paintings and photographs, and shelves of books. Instead, I was met by a frontier doctor's office. The room had only one small window, covered with heavy drapes, an examination table, a long counter with a pump and basin, and a row of glass-fronted cabinets. Antique instruments were lined up on a tray on the counter, not a trace of rust showing, despite their obvious age.

"There's an interesting story to go with this room," Edward told me as I examined the tools more closely.

"Really? Wait, let me guess – Carlisle was a gunslinger by night, doling out justice to the many claim-jumpers and rabble-rousing ruffians, and once he'd shot them, he'd bring them back here, fix them up, and send them on their way," I said as I tested the pump. A cool stream of fresh, clean water gushed from the spout into the basin. I ran my fingers under the water, amazed that the contraption still worked.

"Close," Edward laughed, handing me a handkerchief to dry my fingers. "Actually, during the day he maintained his pretence of being a prospector – it was easy enough to ride a horse away from the house just before dawn, tether it in the woods near a mine shaft, and run back to the house to hide for the rest of the day, not that there was normally anyone around to observe him. Still, for appearances, from time to time he'd come home with some silver, take it to town on a rainy day, and spend it or trade it in. He amassed a small fortune in silver and other metals within a few years.

"You'll have noticed that this area is not particularly shady, and in fact, it is frequently quite sunny, which would, naturally, present something of a quandary for Carlisle, if he were to try and practice medicine during daylight hours. Instead, he quietly let people know that he was available for all sorts of emergencies, especially those of a nature requiring discretion, during the evening hours. He quickly grew popular with the rougher element of town – those men who got into knife fights in bars, but didn't want the local constabulary to find them, and so would normally have let the wound fester, hoping it would heal itself. Soon, all sorts of interesting characters began knocking at the window, seeking treatment. Dance-hall girls, saloon-keepers, bootleggers, gunslingers; you name it, he saw it. Knife wounds, bullet holes, strained muscles, and once even a man who fell down a mine shaft."

"All those criminals? Carlisle doesn't seem like the type," I said, trying to picture him stitching up gun-toting desperadoes and feathered floosies.

"Well, that was the best part of it. Every time one of the bad guys came in, for some reason, within a day or two they found themselves facing the sheriff, thanks to an anonymous tip. For some reason, nobody ever traced it back to Carlisle. But every beaten burlesque dancer, every mistreated wife, every abused child who made their way to his window was guaranteed a safer place to return to. That was the part that made him saddest, but it was also the most rewarding. Being able to help those who couldn't help themselves, whether that meant hiding them for a day or two, or treating their wounds and reporting their attackers, almost made all the daylight hiding worth it." Edward had grown serious with the last part of his story, his hand caressing mine, tracing aimless patterns on the back of it with his thumb.

"That sounds like Carlisle. He's so good," I said, raising a hand to his cheek, turning his face to mine. Our eyes met, and held for a long moment. "You're a lot like him, you know." His wry smile let me know he didn't agree with me, but he didn't seem to want to argue the point with me. Again.

"Shall we continue on?" he asked, somewhat more subdued. I was about to nod, when a faint buzzing caught my ear. Before I could say anything, a tiny silver cell phone was at his ear. 'Alice?' I mouthed, and he nodded.

"Ah, yes, thank you. I will. Yes. Goodbye." His answers were short and to the point, but not tense, unlike so many, too many, other phone calls I'd heard him have with here.

"Is everything alright?" I asked once he had hung up.

"Perfect. Alice was just letting me know about some changes in the weather. It seems horseback riding will have to be postponed a little. I hope you're not too disappointed," he said, smirking a little. I was relieved that his sombre mood of a moment ago had passed.

"I may just cry myself to sleep tonight," I warned, sniffling theatrically. He rolled his eyes and kissed my forehead.

"I'm going to go and strike camp. Alice is forecasting a real humdinger of a storm for this afternoon," he said, running a hand through his untidy hair. "You stay here, and I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

"Are you sure you don't want any help?" I asked, knowing what his answer would be. His raised eyebrow was answer enough. We both knew that my capacity for getting into trouble was far greater, in this situation, than my potential to help.

"Will you be okay by yourself?" he asked as he stepped out onto the porch. I stood in the doorway, feeling very much as though I was lost in time, for the fourth or fifth time that day.

"I'm pretty sure I can handle it," I said, grabbing him by the collar. I pulled him to me for a thorough kiss.

"Hmm, keep that up, and I'm not sure I'll ever leave," he laughed, kissing me again. I watched as he leapt over the railing and darted into the woods, raising a hand to wave as he ducked into the trees. I turned and shut the door carefully behind me, throwing home the bolt for good measure. I didn't like having him so far from me, and the sudden darkness moving in on the horizon was making me nervous. The lowering clouds, unlike the innocent darkness of the night before, made the grey light seem oppressive and ominous.

Ill at ease, for some unfathomable reason, I darted up the stairs to Alice's room and threw open the wardrobe doors. Folded in the drawer at the bottom, I found what I was looking for. The heavy, knitted woollen shawl was just what I needed to take the edge off the cold chill creeping over me. I wrapped it tightly around my shoulders, closed the cupboard, and crossed the hall to Edward's room. I perched on the window seat, watching the woods for his return.


	13. Darkness Falls

I hadn't gone far before I began to feel rather anxious. I knew that Bella was safe, but still, being so far away from her in unfamiliar territory made me uncomfortable. I ran faster toward the campsite; the sooner I got there and packed everything up, the sooner I could get back to her. Overhead, the sky was becoming positively threatening. I was aware that sudden downpours were not uncommon in this area, but it still seemed ominous.

The bright nylon of the tent loomed into view, and I slowed my pace. As fast as humanly possible, well, considerably faster, actually, I packed up the tent and all its accouterments, loading them into two large canvas rucksacks, which I slung over my shoulder. The suitcases fit easily under my arms, and within a few minutes, I was ready to go. I hadn't taken but three steps, however, when I suddenly caught a scent I wasn't expecting. Horror thrilled my soul, or whatever force served to animate me, and the objects in my arms were suddenly irrelevant. All that mattered was Bella, returning to her, protecting her. Dropping everything, I moved as quietly and quickly as I physically could, ghosting through the trees like a wraith, knowing that, no matter how silent I was, my scent would give me away.

I saw the house, rising out of the lowering gloom, and was relieved to find it undamaged. I leapt to the porch, my hand reaching for the knob, but it did not yield beneath my touch. A finger of dread jabbed me in the chest. Banging loudly, I called Bella's name, trying to contain my growing panic. A faint padding on the stairs, followed by the grating of the bolt, relieved my rising terror.

As soon as the door was unlocked, I reached through the slight opening, snaked one arm around Bella's waist, spun her around in my grip so that she was to the side of the door, darted in, and slammed the door behind me. Opening a well-concealed panel in the wall, I pushed a series of buttons while Bella watched, wide-eyed and staring. I pushed the last button, and a creaking sound engulfed the house. Brick had not been the only addition Esme made during the remodel, but this one had been a well-kept and unused secret until this very moment. I experienced an intense sense of gratitude for her foresight, and for the fact that the system still functioned.

Metal plates slammed over the windows and doors, blocking all points of entry with reinforced steel. Wordlessly, I drew Bella to me, holding her tightly against my chest. She was trembling beneath my hands.

"Are you alright?" I demanded, holding her away from me for a moment, so that I could look her over. Her face was tight with panic, fear filled her eyes, and I pulled her close again, stroking her back, the long braid hanging over her shoulder, running my thumb over her cheekbone. Her skin was colder than normal.

"I'm fine. What's going on, Edward?" she asked, her voice just a trifle higher than normal. She was still looking around, trying to find the source of my panic.

"Nothing. Just a precaution," I temporized, unwilling to tell her I'd caught the scent of another of my kind. There was no reason to tell her that the scent, which I'd first caught at the campsite, trailed around the house in a wide circle. No reason to worry her.

"Edward. Please. I wish you wouldn't do that. I've been chased by a homicidal tracker, hung around with a pack of werewolves, faced down Laurent, seen Victoria nearly destroy everyone I hold dear, and you won't tell me what's going on now because you're worried it will worry me?" she snapped, and I knew she was right. I did try to protect her, and it so rarely worked the way I meant it to, or only resulted in a series of close-calls.

"You're right. Of course you're right. I'm sorry," I said, kissing her cheek repentantly. "I thought I smelled…someone. Outside. I caught a scent at the campsite." Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly in a silent 'oh.' Just then, a tremendous clap of thunder shook the house, and a dull rattle began as rain beat against the roof.

"What do you mean? There's another vampire out there somewhere?" she asked, her voice eerily steady.

"Yes."

"How close?" she demanded, and when I seemed unwilling to answer, "HOW CLOSE?" Her hands closed on my shirtfront, knuckles white.

"There was a wide circuit made of the house, but no closer than the edge of the woods on any given side, and in some places much further back. I didn't catch their thoughts…there were too many cars going by; we're not that far from some fairly large roads, and there have been cars going by all day. I didn't hear…I didn't know…" the realization that I could have caused Bella's death, again, chilled me to the core. Because of my inattentiveness, she might have gotten hurt.

"Okay. Okay, so what do we do now? We can't stay in here forever," she said, all calm practicality in the face of my self-recrimination. She was my island of serenity in a stormy world. I couldn't – wouldn't – let anything happen to her.

"We have enough provisions to last out the week, at least, but I doubt that will be necessary. For now, we'll just leave the shields up, and in the morning, when the storm passes, I'll call Alice and see if she has Seen anything. I doubt she foresaw this, or she would have warned me when she called earlier. That suggests there was no intent to do you harm, but all the same, I'd rather be safe than sorry." She looked both relieved and chagrined at my plan of defence.

"This wouldn't be a problem if I weren't so very human and tasty, you know," she said, reminding me once again of my greatest temptation. It would be so easy to change her, make her safe from the dark elements of the world, the dangers of my reality. But I couldn't do that to her. It just wasn't fair to take her life from her. Not now. Not when she still had so much to live for, so many experiences left to have.

"That's not the answer to every problem, you know," I said with as gentle a smile as I could manage. Her half smile was reassuring.

"I know. Well, now what? We can't stand here in the doorway all night," she said, taking my hand.

"Do you want to continue the tour? There's not much left to see. Actually, there's mainly the kitchen," I said, thinking, not of the tour, but of the luggage left in the clearing half a mile away.

"Hmm, maybe later. I'm sure I'll get to see the kitchen when it's time for dinner," she said with a grin. "I'm kind of cold, actually. Would it be okay to start a fire or something?"

"A fire? Well, if you really want to. But I could just turn up the heat – another of Esme's subtle improvements. Central heating was an important part of the cover, forty years ago. That shawl suits you, by the way," I said as I took her hand to lead her to the parlour. The light blue wool complemented her fair skin and dark hair beautifully.

"I hope Alice won't mind that I borrowed it. I got kind of chilled while you were gone. The change in the weather, I guess," she reasoned, rubbing her arms beneath the wrap. Not for the first time, I wished I were able to warm her in my arms.

"I'm sure Alice won't mind. In fact, she'll probably insist you keep it when I tell her how breathtakingly lovely you look in it," I said, not looking at her. I could hear her heart rate increasing, even across the room. I grinned. I loved when that happened.

"Thank you, but that's not necessary. I'm pretty sure she'll have more than enough articles of clothing to foist on me without adding this one. I'm not going to help feed her shopping habit," she said, her tone lightning. I was relieved.

"Well, then I'm afraid you won't appreciate my next bit of news overmuch," I said, containing a laugh as I imagined the look on her face.

"What news?"

"I might have, possibly, perhaps, lost the suitcases in my haste to return."

"So?"

"So, all our clothes were in there, with the exception of the few articles I included in the backpack we took on the hike."

"Oh. That's not good. I was really hoping to change, actually. This shirt got really sweaty and gross," she said, making a face as she pulled at the offending garment. I bit my lip to forestall my mirth.

"Well, it's not as though the house is barren of clothing," I began. Understanding dawned in her eyes, followed quickly by denial.

"No, Edward. I won't. You can't make me."

"Suit yourself," I said, tugging at the hem of her shirt. "I don't care what you smell like."


	14. Scenes From a Daydream

The fact that Edward had dropped the luggage in his haste to get back to the house was understandable, forgivable, even. But this, this was too much. I couldn't believe he hadn't packed anything useful in the hiking pack. In fact, the only things in it were a few bottles of water, a first aid kit, deodorant, a pack of gum, and my toothbrush and toothpaste. Ordinarily, it wouldn't have been such a big deal, but under the circumstances, it was highly irritating.

My shirt, though not filthy, was definitely dirty. If we had been staying at the campsite, I wouldn't have minded as much – dirty was a part of camping. But being here, in Carlisle and Esme's beautiful house, with all the delicate fabrics and antiques, I felt out of place and uncomfortable. It was bad enough that I had perched on the padded chair at lunch, and the edge of Edward's bed in such a grimy state, but there was no way I was going to spend the rest of the day, let alone the whole night, in grubby clothes, dirtying up everything I touched. And Edward's proposed solution was ridiculous.

"No, Edward," I repeated, half an hour after the first denial. It had taken him the better part of that time to coax me up the stairs, despite the fact that, at any time, he could have simply picked me up and carried me. Despite the fact that his proposed reason for traipsing up to the second floor was unrelated to clothing, we nevertheless ended up in front of several open closets after he insisted on showing me all the rooms again, this time pointing out small details in each.

The first room had been Alice's, where he wanted to show me the carving on the dresser fronts, and then the matching details on the inside drawer of the great wardrobe. I was hardly surprised when he tugged the sleeve of the blue dress I had noticed earlier, but I quickly put an end to that idea, as her petite frame did not allow for clothing which would fit me. Next, he tried to convince me that I simply had to look at the hand-stitching on Esme's embroidered pillowcases, which, oddly enough, was done by the same hand which had stitched the wonderful patterns on the hems of several dresses in her wardrobe. I sighed heavily, and he led me from the room.

At Rosalie's door, I put up my first really strong resistance. Even if I had been amenable to his plan, there was no way I was wearing anything of Rosalie's. She had made it clear when we were fleeing from James and Victoria what she thought of my wearing her things. Edward, however, did not take no for an answer, and so here we were, standing before Rosalie's open wardrobe, me with my arms crossed firmly across my chest, and Edward flipping through dresses faster than I could keep up with, rejecting many out of hand as simply too frilly or ornate.

"What about this one?" he asked, extending a pale green dress with bows at the shoulders. It was pretty, in its way, but I had no desire to even touch it.

"No, Edward. I will not wear Rosalie's dress. Why can't I just wear one of your old shirts or something?" I protested, hoping he would agree. I knew it was futile – he was one of those people who got an idea in their head, and it could take an earthquake to dislodge it. He was a lot like Charlie, in that respect.

"Oh, where's the fun in that," he said, drawing me nearer to him by the elbows. I refused to uncross my arms or look at him. His cold fingers were suddenly on my jaw, gently tugging my face upwards. I closed my eyes resolutely, trying to avoid meeting his gaze, knowing I would be dazzled into agreeing with him. He chuckled darkly, and I wondered what on earth he could find so amusing. Before I knew it, his lips were on my neck, trickling fire over my jaw, my ear, my eyelids, his cold fingers pressed into my back. I gasped, stiffening in his arms, my eyes flying open…just in time to meet the full blown glory of his smouldering golden eyes.

"No…fair..." I gasped, my legs feeling suddenly gelatinous.

"Everything's fair in love," he said softly, kissing my lips but never taking his eyes from mine. "Will you wear this?" I couldn't even see what he was holding out, but I nodded dumbly, willing to agree to pretty well anything by that point. "Do you promise?" he asked, still holding my gaze.

"Uh huh," I breathed, my arms uncrossing to fall limply by my sides.

"Good. You'll want a bath first, though, I imagine," he said, brushing some stray hair out of my face. Now that the full force of his eyes was no longer on me, I found it slightly easier to think. With the amount of hair he'd been tucking back into my braid all day, I figured my hair must be a mess, and I could see for myself that my arms were sticky with sap from the trees I had brushed against, not to mention the dirt on my jeans from where we'd sat in the grass during one of my many rest stops.

"Yeah, there's not much point changing clothes if all I'm doing is putting clean clothes on top of the dirt," I said with a wry smile. Taking my hand, Edward led the way down the hall again, back down the stairs, and to the door of a small, windowless bathroom on the main floor.

The bathroom was a small chamber just off the kitchen. I was relieved to see that this room, at least, was fairly modern. The tub was a large claw-footed affair that came up to my mid-thigh, and had a small wooden stool next to it to make it easier to get into. The wall opposite the tub held a porcelain toilet and a small pedestal sink. Though the style was reminiscent of the Victorian era, they were clearly much newer additions.

"Wait here, and I'll bring you some towels," Edward said, depositing my few toiletries on the edge of the sink. He was back in under a minute with not only towels, but the dress I had agreed to wear, as well as an old-fashioned hairbrush, a bar of soap, and some shampoo. It was lucky Edward had planned for us to stay here, I thought, or I'd have been out of luck on the clean-up.

"Thanks," I said gracelessly, taking the towels and dress from him. I wasn't happy with the arrangement, but I didn't want to stay in my dirty clothes, either. "Uh, does the plumbing in here work, or, uh…"

"Yes, that was one of the modernizations Esme insisted on. It would be hard to play the human but be unable to let a guest use the washroom," he said, smiling crookedly. My heart stuttered. "I'll leave you to it, then, shall I?" I nodded, following him to the door.

"We're going to be okay, right?" I asked, suddenly uncertain.

"Of course," he said, then backed out of the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind himself. I turned to the huge tub and turned on the cold water first, then the hot, until the temperature was right. I stripped off my soiled clothes and stepped carefully into the tub. All I'd need to make the day perfect was to slip and knock myself out, probably resulting in being drowned. I shook my head, trying to dispel the cloud of gloom hovering over me, and sank gratefully into the warm water.

Ducking under the water, I felt my hair fan out around me. I swished it around, enjoying the weightless feeling. I could feel my stiff muscles beginning to relax a little as I soaked. The bar of soap Edward had handed me smelled of strawberries, as did the shampoo. I couldn't help but smile. He thought of everything. I scrubbed my arms vigorously, grimacing at the sticky pull of the sap smears. At long last, I got it all off, my skin reddened but clean. I took longer with my hair, carefully combing out the tangles with my fingers before washing it. As I soaked, an idea came to me. A devious, devilish, delicious idea. I smiled to myself, rinsed off, and wrapped a towel around myself. I dried slowly, allowing my new thought to develop more fully, and finally got down to the business of dressing.

I began by towelling my hair until it was as dry as I could get it. I then brushed it, pulling it all back into a bun. It wasn't as smooth as I wanted it, since all I had was the elastic that had held the end of my braid, and not the handful of bobby pins I desired, but it would do. I then turned to the folded pile of blue material.

The dress Edward had chosen was less horrible than I had feared. Although I enjoyed reading Victorian romances, the idea of the clothes had never appealed to me. There were always too many ruffles and bows, lace and petticoats. This, however, was not quite so fearsome. The waist was narrow, but looked like it would fit. I had expected many layers of petticoats or a corset, but it seemed that this dress either had not come with any, or Edward had simply not brought them to me. In either case, I was grateful. The idea of trying to squeeze myself into a corset was unpleasant, and the extra layers would have been heavy, I imagined.

I found a pair of silk drawers, and a chemise, which I pulled on, feeling really weird about the whole thing, but resigned to my fate. Next, I slid the soft material of the dress over my head, careful not to catch it on anything. With dismay, I realized that the closure was a long series of buttons, which I couldn't reach by myself. I edged open the bathroom door, and peered through the crack. I jumped back a foot when a pair of butterscotch eyes met mine unexpectedly.

"Geez!" I exclaimed. "What are you trying to do, scare me to death?" He laughed apologetically.

"No, quite the opposite, I assure you. Are you all done?"

"Except for these buttons," I said, opening the door wider and turning my back to him. I could feel the delicate brush of his fingers as he speedily did them up. "I don't know how women could dress like this all the time." He took a step back as I turned, then held me at arm's length.

"You look…stunning," he said, ignoring my scowl. The dress fit rather better than I had expected it to, and it wasn't as over-done as I had feared, but stunning seemed a bit much.

"Thanks," I said uncertainly, adjusting the transparent sleeves. The square neck dipped low on my chest, the top layer of light blue chiffon forming a 'v' over the embroidered bodice. The 'v' ran to the high pink waist band, which fit snugly just beneath my bust. The skirt of the dress fell gracefully away, the darker blue dress a pretty contrast under the light blue layer, which fell away to the two sides. "It's a pretty dress. Not quite what I expected from the 1890's, though."

"Ah, well, strictly speaking, it's not actually Victorian. Rosalie wasn't a great lover of leg-of-mutton sleeves, and she found most of the extra frills more annoying than appealing, so when she stocked her closet, she dipped into the Edwardian period, rather than the earlier styles," he explained.

"Edwardian, eh? Must be why I like it," I said, my mood lightening. He laughed, and the sound was a balm to my frayed nerves, though I hadn't really noticed the stress I was feeling until it was relieved somewhat. I noticed, once I got over being self-conscious, that he had also changed clothes. He was wearing a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, under a dark blue vest, with a pair of brown trousers. "You look pretty good yourself."

"Thanks," he said. "You can leave those towels there. Why don't we go sit in the parlour, and figure out what we're going to do." With a sigh, I nodded, closed the door behind me, and followed him down the hall.


	15. Time and Space

Bella looked even more beautiful than I had imagined she would when I chose that particular dress. Rosalie had never worn it, as we had lived here in the mid 1900's, and so I had no memories of anyone else wearing it. It was like watching someone step out of time. It fit her so naturally, and she carried herself so well in it, that it seemed almost as though she belonged to this other time period. I sighed. It was so easy to play pretend, out here in the middle of nowhere, locked in a steel fortress. It would take no effort at all to imagine we were alone in the universe, living a hundred years ago in the wilderness, cut off from everything but each other. Far too tempting a proposition.

Reluctantly, I led her towards the parlour. We needed to decide how to handle our…situation. I couldn't pretend nothing was wrong, as much as I might want to, and she couldn't stay locked in here indefinitely. What I really needed was to speak to Alice, but in order to do that, I'd have to lower our defences, and unless I knew it was safe to do so, I was reluctant to consider it.

Behind me, the soft swish of Bella's dress was a comforting sound, one I remembered from childhood, though my memories of that time were few and faded. I turned to look at her again, never quite able to get my fill of her. How I wished things had been different, that I was not the monster I had been made into, that she had been born in my time. But then, we might both have died of the influenza, or never have met, or worse, met and then died. Her bare feet padded quietly along the smooth wooden floor, and her warm hand was a reassuring presence in mine. I set her on one end of the sofa, and perched on the other. An awkward silence fell between us as I paused, uncertain how to begin.

"So, what's the plan?" Bella asked, hands folded demurely in her lap, a small shiver shook her frame. I darted from the room and retrieved the shawl she had left in the bathroom, draping it around her shoulders. Her smile was soft as she looked at me, murmuring a quiet thanks.

"Well, honestly, I don't have a plan," I confessed unhappily. So much depended on the outside factor – what the other vampire was doing.

"Okay. Let's think this through, then. Was this other vampire someone you recognized?" she asked. I thought about it for a long moment, recalling the scent as I had first caught it, and then as I had rapidly traced it around the house.

"No. I'm almost positive it isn't anyone I've met before. I think they were female, though. Whoever it was, they left a wide berth around the clearing here," I answered. Her delicate eyebrows drew down as she frowned slightly, thinking.

"So this female caught our scent, circled around, and didn't make any attempt to approach the house." I nodded in agreement with her statement. "Do you think it's possible she was just randomly in the area, and happened to catch the scent? Not making any attempt to come near the house makes me think that whoever it is didn't really want to meet us," she said. I wasn't sure I could agree.

"I'll agree that it seems random, and that there was no overt attempt at attack, but I don't know that there is no intent for a future encounter. I wish I could reach Alice," I sighed. She looked at me in surprise, and then understanding flickered into her eyes – with all the reinforced steel surrounding the house, the cell phone in my pocket was relatively useless.

"Oh. Right. So, basically we're trapped here for a while. Whoever they are, they can't stick around forever, and they didn't seem to have a whole lot of interest to begin with, so maybe they've already left," she said, hope colouring her tone. "Not that I mind being trapped here with you," she added, much lower and softer. My heart soared.

"It sounds like our plan, then, is just to wait it out. Well, in that case, I guess we'd better make the best of it," I said with a grin.

I was glad Esme had had the house wired for electricity when it was rebuilt, as I would have been nervous starting a fire or lighting candles in such a confined space with no rapid way to escape should something go wrong. The lamp in the parlour was lit, and the warm glow cast a golden hue over Bella's pale skin. I had lit only the lamp, however, and much of the room was in shadow, lit only vaguely by the lamp's diffuse circle of light. I glanced at the antique clock on top of the piano. It was nearly four o'clock already. I could still hear the pounding of rain on the roof, and the occasional clap of thunder caused the house to shudder.

"Great. What do you want to do now?" she asked, definitely not upset at the prospect of being confined with me for a day or two.

"Well, in keeping with the theme of the house, I could play for you, if you like. It would have been a common evening's entertainment," I suggested. She smiled, and I seated myself at the piano. I began with Esme's favourite, the familiar notes spilling effortlessly from my fingers, transitioned easily into Debussy's 'Clair de Lune,' then Chopin's 'Nocturne in E-Flat Major,' followed by Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata,' then a few more of my own compositions. I started with one I had composed the day after the first time I took Bella to the meadow, then another I wrote as she lay in the hospital in Phoenix. That one was melancholy, and I could see, from the corner of my eye, a silver tear tracing a glittering path down Bella's cheek. I switched quickly to her lullaby. Her eyes closed, and she leaned back against the sofa, her arms curled about herself. As the last lingering notes reverberated through the room, I quietly closed the lid on the keys and sat next to her, drawing her into the circle of my arms.

"Why did you stop?" she asked, opening her wide brown eyes to look at me, a puzzled expression on her face.

"I thought I was making you sad," I answered, wiping her tears away with my thumb. "I don't want you to cry."

"Oh. I'm not sad. That one piece was just so achingly beautiful, I couldn't help it," she blushed. The heat of her cheek warmed my finger tips, and I closed my eyes in bliss, leaning in to put my lips against her cheeks. The scent of her skin was overwhelming, the warm fragrance of freesia wafting from her in delicate waves.

"It was about you, you know," I told her, opening my eyes to watch her blush deepen. She lowered her eyes demurely, and I couldn't help but laugh. She looked up sharply.

"What's so funny?" she asked, a hint of a pout playing on the edges of her lips.

"You are. Ever since you put on that dress, it's like we've stepped back in time – your mannerisms, the way you carry yourself, they've all adapted to the style of the time you're dressed in. It's quite fascinating, actually," I told her.

"Well your mannerisms haven't changed in the slightest; you've always been a little bit lost in time," she replied, stroking my cheek fondly. I couldn't help but smile and lean in to kiss her. To my surprise, she turned her cheek to me, and I missed her mouth entirely, my lips landing firmly on her heated cheekbone.

"Bella?" I said, startled; she'd never turned from me before. I hoped I hadn't offended her with my observations.

"Mr. Cullen, you are being quite forward," she sniffed, one eyebrow raised archly. "I do not think it is proper for a man to be kissing a woman to whom he is not married."

"Ah, Miss Swan, you are correct. I fear I have taken a few liberties, of which I am properly ashamed. Will you accept my most humble and sincere apology?" I asked, playing along. This was certainly something new, and I was eager to see where it would lead. Perhaps if she played the demure and proper Victorian lady, she would not be so hard to resist.

"I will accept your apology, provided it does not happen again. Now, with what shall we occupy ourselves?"

"Well, Miss Swan, the dinner hour draws near. Perhaps we ought to explore the kitchen and discover what delicate foods we may find to please your pretty palate," I suggested, smothering my mirth.

"Ah, yes, that would be a pleasing diversion. Let us make haste," she said, standing and shaking out her skirts. I extended an arm, and we walked slowly to the kitchen, through the hallway hung with family portraits, past the dining room and doctor's office.

"Milady, we have arrived," I said, sweeping one arm out before me. She laughed, a carefree sound I had not heard in far too long, and we entered the kitchen to begin rummaging for ingredients. My chest swelled with happiness, and I let myself believe, for just a moment, that this was the life we lived, happy and secure, in a little bubble lost in time.


	16. Dinner Dealings

Puttering around the kitchen with Edward felt really…natural, oddly enough. His gallantry knew no bounds as he insisted on taking everything that weighed more than three ounces out of my hands, lifting and carrying, reaching and fetching every object, ingredient, tool, and towel I needed. It was endearing and frustrating, all at once. As we cooked, I worked on my plan, scheming how I could get a half hour alone to riffle through various people's drawers.

The kitchen grew warm with the heat radiating from the oven and stovetop. I discarded the shawl I was still wearing, draping it across the back of a one of the tall wooden kitchen chairs. Edward smirked at me, running a cold finger up my bare arm. I shivered despite the heat, my spine stiffening delightedly. I had just finished supervising Edward peelings the potatoes (because heaven forbid I should lift a finger or break a sweat), and was about to begin supervising his washing of the dishes, when he smiled mischievously, my favourite crooked grin.

"What?" I asked, not for the first time that day, or even the last hour.

"Nothing. I just can't get over how perfect you look," he said, shrugging and tucking an escaped tendril of hair back into my loose bun. I could feel my cheeks flushing scarlet. After all the compliments he'd been pouring on me all day, I would have thought my face incapable of being any other colour. I sighed, tilting my head and squinting at him. I was about to say something clever, when a bubbling hiss, followed by a spatter of water from the overflowing pot of potatoes caught my attention.

"Edward! The potatoes!" I cried, pointlessly, as he had already lowered the heat under the offending pot. He grinned at me.

"Never fear, my love," he said, taking me by the hand. "The dishes can wait till later, too," he continued as I eyed the pile in the sink. "Come, let me distract you." He pulled out a chair at the scarred kitchen table, and plopped himself across from me, producing a deck of cards from his pocket. "Have you ever played blackjack?"

"Why, yes, in fact I have, though it has been many years," I said, intrigued by the idea and wondering where he was going with this.

"Well, since there is no point in betting with money, I think we ought to raise the stakes a little," he said, smiling devilishly. I groaned inwardly, knowing this would not end in my favour, but I nodded anyway, determined not to wimp out.

"Name your terms," I said as boldly as I could. He quirked an eyebrow at me, perhaps surprised by my calm demeanour.

"Alright. For every hand you lose, I want one answer," he said, watching my face closely. I struggled not to show how frustrating his terms were. Even though we were getting married, there were still things I wasn't sure I wanted to tell him just yet, but I resigned myself to it.

"Accepted. But, for every hand you lose, I want something too," I stated coolly, wondering how far I could push him.

"Accepted, but with veto power."

"Fine, but I get veto, too, for questions I don't want to answer." As if I could deny him anything. All he had to do was look at me with those ridiculously gorgeous eyes, and I'd be lost.

"Done. How many?"

"Umm, how about three?"

"Deal." And thus it began.

*****

The first hand he dealt was good to me, turning up a queen and a nine. I almost had time to get excited, when he flipped his cards, revealing two tens. A wide grin flashed at me as I grimaced.

"If you could be any animal, what would you be?" he asked, starting off easily, I supposed. I hesitated, though, giving the question serious thought.

"Uh, well, that depends," I hedged, "are you hunting that day or not?"

"Decidedly not."

"Oh, well, then I'd be a cheetah." He looked surprised.

"Why?"

"That is another question, so you'll have to beat me again to get the answer," I said, sticking my tongue out at his mockingly shocked expression. Wordlessly, he dealt another hand. I turned up a three and a five. I asked for an received another card. A seven, for a total of fifteen. The odds were not in my favour. Another card, a seven, and I was beaten. Edward scored a nineteen. I scowled.

"Why?" he repeated. I rolled my eyes. Such a one-track mind. I sighed before launching into the explanation that I hadn't really thought out.

"Well, cheetahs are fast, which I am never, because I fall down a lot. And they're graceful, which I am also usually not," I said, eyes lowered, knowing I was giving away more than just a stupid animal, knowing he would read more into it, see my underlying insecurities. I wasn't sure I liked this game much anymore.

"Hm," was all he said as he dealt the cards again. I fared no better, drawing sixteen, which was beaten by his eighteen. I cringed a little as he thought of a new question.

"How are your legs?" he asked, catching me completely off guard. I had nearly forgotten about my stupid, ugly, diseased legs.

"Not bad," I answered, gingerly rubbing my calves together. "The itching is really mild."

"Good. I can rub them with salt again later, if you want," he offered. I smiled and nodded, glad for any excuse to have his cold hands touching me. On some level, I think he knew that.

"That would be nice. Now deal again," I said. Finally, he lost one.

"Finally!" I grumbled, trying to think of something I wanted. I had a momentary stroke of genius, remembering my plan and the necessary half hour.

"Well, out with it. Tell me what you want," he said. I closed my eyes. What a way to word that question.

"I want half an hour."

"Half an hour?" he looked confused, his brows drawing together deliciously. It was a constant struggle to keep my hands to myself.

"Half an hour. Tonight. I will need an uninterrupted half hour upstairs tonight," I said. He paused, eyes narrowed, and I could see him considering the use of a veto, but as we were locked in the house, and nothing was getting in or out, and there wasn't that much trouble to get into, he forbore to use it.

"Done."

"Excellent. Now, sir, I believe your potatoes are just about done," I said, glancing pointedly at the merrily bubbling pot with a cheeky smirk. Faster than I could blink, he was out of his seat and pulling the pot from the stovetop, draining it in the large metal sink. Hot billows of steam rose, engulfing him in a potato flavoured cloud. Before I knew it, the potatoes were mashed and he was plating the rest of my dinner. I felt ridiculous sitting there watching him, but he wouldn't let me help, insisting each time I tried that he wanted to do it. He swept the cards into a pile, slid them back into his pocket, and flicked a lace place mat in front of me. The plate was set down next, followed by utensils and glassware. I sighed contentedly as the wafting scents hit my nose.

"Sorry it's leftovers from lunch," he said, "I was going to take you out for dinner tonight, but obviously, that's an impossibility at the moment." He frowned, looking frustrated. I just patted him on the arm and bade him sit again. He did, pulling out the same chair across from me that he had occupied only moments before. He folded his arms on the table, and laid his chin on the back of his wrist, watching me.

"What?" I asked after a moment, a little unsettled by his intense gaze.

"I like watching you eat. Your lips are…mesmerizing," he answered, blinking for my benefit. I glanced down at my plate, then back to his eyes. Blushing again. I focused in my food, but couldn't prevent the corners of my mouth from curling up in delight.

"You are truly weird, Edward Cullen," I sighed.

"Yes, and you love it."

"I truly do."


	17. Itching to Explore

When the dishes were washed and put away, Edward took my hand yet again and led me back to the parlour. It was still early, but because there was no natural light to be had, it was hard to tell. The clock on the mantle told me it was seven.

"Now what are we going to do?" I asked, the first stirrings of boredom rising to the surface.

"Bored of me already?" he chuckled, eyebrow raised. I rolled my eyes; as if I could ever be bored of him.

"No," I answered, staring around the room restlessly. A door on the other side of the foyer caught my attention. During our earlier tour, it had totally escaped my notice. "Where does that door go?"

"Oh, that's just the basement. That's where we keep the stuff that's inconsistent with the time period of the house," he smirked, a glint in his eye. "Would you like to take a look?"

"Well, I don't know, Mr. Cullen. Can I trust you to maintain an appropriate distance in such a dark and enclosed space?" I teased.

"Of course, Ms. Swan. I should never want to sully your fine reputation," he said in all seriousness. He extended his elbow, and I tucked my hand under his arm as we made our way to the locked door leading to the basement.

The stairs were narrow and dark, making it necessary for Edward to release my hand and walk ahead of me. The wooden steps creaked under our footsteps, and a momentary pang of trepidation attacked me as I wondered just how safe this venture was. As if he could read my mind, Edward reached back and patted my arm.

"Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you," he assured me. "Here's the last step, now." I stumbled a little, and his cold arms snaked around my waist, stopping me from hitting the floor. My hands were pressed firmly against his muscular chest, and I could feel his cool breath against my neck. A shiver travelled up my back as I drew in a sharp breath. I could feel his chest heave with a suppressed chuckle.

"Aren't there any lights down here," I asked, wondering how we were supposed to see anything in the dark. I was acutely aware of his hands on my hips as he replied.

"Of course, but if the lights were on, I probably wouldn't do this," and then his lips were on my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulled out the elastic that was holding my bun.

"Uh uh, you promised my virtue would be safe," I rasped, cursing my lack of breath as tongues of flame licked up my neck where his lips had been.

"True enough," he said with a sigh, releasing me. A dull click, and then the basement flared into brilliant, blinding light. My hand flew up to shade my eyes from the glare until they finally adjusted. When I could see, I was astounded. It was like stepping into a shopping mall; clothes were arranged just like a department store, all the men's clothing to one side, the women's on the other. They were further divided by year, then by size and colour. I saw almost immediately that my earlier plan would need a slight revision.

"Wow," I breathed as I took it all in. "I'm guessing Alice had something to do with this."

"You would be correct," he grinned. "We moved here shortly after Alice and Jasper joined us, in part because it was so secluded and offered less temptation for Jasper. Alice had never really had much of a life, so Rosalie quickly introduced her to the world of couture, and the rest, as they say, is history." It was not surprising to me in the least to know that Rosalie had given Alice her start in shopping; she was always impeccably dressed.

"I think I'd like a revision of my earlier terms," I said, wondering if he'd let me change the agreement, such as it was.

"Certainly." I didn't even have to try to convince him, and I was far more likely to find what I desired here than in the drawers upstairs. Excellent. I flipped through the racks of clothes, giving everything a cursory glance, knowing I would come back a later to look more thoroughly, so Edward wouldn't guess what I was up to.

"Thank you. Can we go back upstairs now, it's a little chilly down here."

"Absolutely." Ever the gentleman, he once again led me to the stairs, this time walking behind me. The light stayed on until we reached the top of the stairs, where he used a secondary switch to turn it off. My eyes widened a little, realizing that he had probably planned that little encounter at the bottom of the stairs. Interesting. I filed that tidbit away for later use. "Perhaps now would be a good time to take care of your legs," he suggested.

"I think they're okay, really," I said, not really wanting to expose the splotchy skin again, and yet at the same time wanting to feel his hands on me.

"Nonsense. You've been brushing your calves together all evening," he retorted. Leave it to Edward to notice something I didn't even realize I was doing. I rolled my eyes at him, but smiled, surrendering myself to his tender ministrations.

The kitchen was the best place we could think of for the messy process, so Edward sat me on the edge of the table, and pushed the hem of my dress up to my knees, bending my fingers around the fabric to hold it in place. He debated momentarily over whether or not to put down a towel to catch the excess salt, but since sweeping seemed just as simple, he decided against it. Looking studiously at my legs, Edward poured salt into his hand, and gently began rubbing my legs in a circular motion. The silence was only broken by the gentle grating of the grains of salt and the gentle patter as they fell to the floor. At last, he was done with the salt, and he retrieved a towel, wet it, and began gently wiping my legs with it. I felt my eyes close with a sigh, enjoying the delightfully warm cloth and the contrast it created with his cold fingers. Somewhere deep in the house, the chime of a clock sounded, deep and sonorous, striking nine.

"Where did that come from?" I asked, trying to remember if I had heard the sound earlier in the day.

"Upstairs hallway. Didn't you notice the clock standing outside Carlisle's room?" he replied, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"No, I can't say as I did. I guess I was distracted," I told him, giving him my best coy smile. He laughed and swept me off the table into his arms.

"You had an early morning. Are you ready for bed yet, Ms. Swan?"

"Not without my half hour, Mr. Cullen."


End file.
